The Tale of the Desert Wolf
by Grand Wolf
Summary: Yamcha entered Goku's life at age sixteen, but what happened before?  This is the story of the life of Yamcha, desert bandit.  Warning: Contains mostly original characters and starts out without much action.
1. A Hard Life

His was the desert. An endless expanse of wasteland northeast of Frypan Mountain. It was a difficult life, living only off of the things he could steal off of unlucky travelers. Still, it was his territory. He was the only person in the area for miles. He liked it like that.

Kouson was a fairly small town to the east of the desert. It had a few thousand residents, and lived off of trade with various other ports. It was a harsh town, unlivable for anyone who wasn't used to hard living.

Sometimes travelers would find themselves through the northern mountain pass and find themselves in the city of Kouson. Most of the time, however, no one wanted to risk travel through the mountains or the deserts. So the citizens of Kouson lived for generations, seldom seeing outsiders move in, or out.

Hitomaru worked the docks like all of his friends, and he married his love, Yasashina, at a young age. They had rough lives, but they loved one another and lived well, if frugally. Then came the day Yasashina gave birth.

Everything went wrong from the moment it all started. The birth went wrong in every way. The doctors weren't sure they would be able to save the baby or Yasashina. The baby survived, but the mother did.

Hitomaru sat alone in the waiting room, his eyes gazing on the floor. He was only twenty-one, and he was saddled with a baby. He didn't know how to raise a child. Still, he'd take care of his boy the best he could. He wouldn't let his child, nor his wife, down. Little Yamcha would have a dad, Hitomaru would make sure of that.

Seven Years Later

"I'm going to go see Watarimaro, dad." Yamcha said, eyes narrowed.

"Why?" Hitomaru asked, glaring at his young son.

"He's gonna teach me how to fight, how to read, how to do math." He said. "We don't have a proper school here, why not let me learn?"

"Let me tell, you, boy. Reading and math aren't going to help you on those docks. There's nothing you can learn to help you on those docks. Still, if you wanna waste your time, go ahead."

"What if I don't want to work on the docks? What if I want to do something else?"

Hitomaru couldn't help but laugh. "Come on, boy, you know that's not going to happen. There's nothing else to do in this town."

"Then I'm going to leave one day." Yamcha said.

"Through the mountain pass? Into the desert? Then where? We're hundreds of miles from civilization, kid. Face it, you were born here, you're going to die here."

"You're wrong. I just hope I can prove it to you!" Yamcha shouted, slamming the door as he stomped out.

"I hope you can too, kid." Hitomaru said to the closing door. "I hope you can too."

Yamcha sighed as he walked towards Watarimaro's house. His dad gave up on a life outside of Kouson, why should he? He was going to leave the tiny dust bowl and see the world.

Old man Watarimaro sat on his front step like he usually did. His crutch sat beside him, ready at a moment's notice. He was one of the few people in the village with any real education. He was a tutor to the local boys and girls who wanted to learn more than how to be a simple dock worker. Some of the parents weren't happy with his influence, but most figured a little learning was harmless.

"Ah, Yamcha!" Watarimaro said with a smile. "What brings you here today?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me about your time at the World Martial Arts Tournament.

Watarimaro grinned. "Have a seat, then. I'll tell you about my last trip. That sound good?" Yamcha nodded.

"I was young and foolish. I was only twenty years old and the star of my school. In the preliminaries I was untouched. I couldn't be stopped by anyone. So, when I got to the semi-finals, I assumed I'd get through and win the tournament for a second time. Then I saw my opponent."

"He was a little old man in sunglasses with blue hair. He wore the robes of the Crane school. I didn't know it at the time, but I was gazing on Master Shen of the Crane school. He had trained personally with the legendary Mutaito nearly two hundred years before. I didn't know any of this, of course, I just saw a small old man."

"The fight lasted less than thirty seconds. I charged at him as fast as I could, ready to knock him down. He sidestepped me effortlessly and struck a pressure point here." With that, Watarimaro pointed to his right shoulder. "My shoulder felt like he shattered it. I landed and tumbled towards the end of the ring. I managed to pull myself back to my feet and jumped into the air to land a flying kick."

Watarimaro sighed and looked down. "Shen caught my foot in mid air and slammed his palm right into the back of my knee. He completely shattered my thighbone. The damage never quite healed right, and I was forced to retire from fighting. Still, I didn't leave. I wanted to see the finals."

"Shen's opponent was a man called Roshi. He was the Master of the Turtle School. They were the two finalists. I can say without lying that I was terrified of both men. They moved with strength and speed that was inhuman. You could hear the blows struck from anywhere on the island."

Yamcha's eyes went wide. Watarimaro had been, as far as Yamcha knew, a great fighter. How powerful were this Shen and Roshi if they were capable of fighting like that?

"Shen aimed his finger at Roshi and began speaking. I saw him begin to glow as light gathered at the tip of his finger. I don't know why, but Roshi threw his coat off. His whole body bulged with muscle as he began shouting. I'll never forget what he said, what he did. His whole body glowed with a bright blue light as he chanted Kamehameha. Then Shen let go, and Rosh let go. Two beams of light collided in mid-air. The sound nearly deafened me. The stone blocks beneath their feet cracked, cracked because of what they were doing. I could barely see what was happening through the light.

When the light faded, Shen was laying outside the ring, groaning in pain. Roshi had blasted a hole in the side of the arena he was facing. No one had been standing on that side. He looked down at his hands, and looked terrified. It was as if he didn't expect the attack to have such a powerful effect. He took his prize money, and as far as I can tell, never participated in the world tournament again."

"Do you think he's still alive? Roshi I mean..."

"I doubt it..." Watarimaro said. "That was a little over forty years ago. Still, the rumor was that he'd trained with a master named Mutaito. Mutaito died nearly three hundred years ago. Maybe those two, Shen and Roshi, were and are immortal. He could still be out there for all I know."

Yamcha nodded. He wondered why Roshi never fought in the Tournament again. Did he go home and die, content that he truly was the strongest? Did he fear the power he could wield and decided never to fight again? Or did he simply retire because there were no more foes to challenge him. Yamcha decided that if he ever got the chance, he would find the old Master and ask him to his face.

Six Months Later

Yamcha struggled not to cry. His father had gotten drunk down by the docks. Someone got angry, someone threw a punch. Someone pulled a knife. His father bled out on the floor while his friends desperately searched for someone with the training to save his life. Hitomaru died a stupid, pointless death. Yamcha was alone and he knew that it was how life went. Life was cruel, unfair, and unjust. He resolved, once and for all that one day he'd leave town and never come back.


	2. Yamcha Grows

Watarimaro stepped out of his house and found himself staring down at an angry and determined young boy. It was barely past dawn, and Yamcha was already there, waiting for him.

"I'm sorry about your father." Watarimaro said, a sad look on his face. "He was a good man."

"Can you teach me how to fight?" Yamcha asked.

"Why?" Watarimaro said, looking sternly at the young man. He didn't want the boy using any skills he was taught for revenge.

"My dad died because he wasn't strong enough to defend himself. I figure if I'm strong enough, nobody can mess with me. I don't think Roshi ever had to worry about someone pulling a knife. I don't want to bully anyone or anything like that. I just wanna be strong enough to defend myself. I want to be strong enough to leave town when it comes to it."

"I can't teach you to fight." Watarimaro said, smiling apologetically. "At least, I can't teach you much about martial arts. There's only so much you can teach someone if you can't show them."Yamcha sighed. "I didn't say I couldn't teach you anything, though. I can teach you the training methods that martial artists learn. I can teach you how to make yourself stronger and faster. I can teach you basic ki control and manipulation, using your natural energy to enhance your strength, speed and toughness. I can't teach you any moves or katas, but I can make you so tough, so fast, and so strong that no one can touch you even without formal, proper training. Sound good?"

Yamcha nodded and seemed to smile. "Can we start tomorrow?"

"Sure, be here as early as possible."

Yamcha nodded. "Okay, but I'll have to train around my work schedule."

"Work schedule? Yamcha, you're barely eight years old. You can't work."

"I have to. There's nobody in town that can support me. Besides, I'm not depending on anyone else ever again. Anything I have, anything I get, I want to earn." Watarimaro couldn't help but smile.

"Your lessons will be free, boy." Watarimaro said with a grin. "You'll earn the strength with your own hands." Yamcha nodded and decided he could accept that compromise.

Two hours later, an exasperated Yamcha was trying to convince the dock foreman to hire him.

"I'm telling you, kid I don't have a use for you." The older man sighed. "I know your dad died, but what can I do?"

Yamcha shook his head. "I'm not asking for a handout, sir. I just want a job."

The boss sighed, before turning to another worker. "Hey, go tell the guys working on Dock Seven that I want the Cargo sorted by sundown or they're all losing pay!" The worker put down what he was doing, then ran off.

"I could do that!" Yamcha said, pointing to the running man.

"Do what? His job? Sorry kid, you're too small to do that..."

"No, Sir, not what he was doing, what he's doing now. Do you always have to ask one of your workers to run and do things for you? Doesn't that make them stop doing their real job?"

The boss nodded. "Yeah, what's your point."

"If you had somebody to do that job, just that job, you wouldn't have to ask any of your other workers to do it. I could follow you around so that you could order me to tell the workers something you want or to deliver messages, and not have to pull anyone off of a job to do it."

The boss grinned. "I can't pay you much, you know."

Yamcha nodded. "I don't eat much."

"Alright, you'll start tomorrow." He said, extending his hand. Yamcha shook it and nodded.

Yamcha exhausted himself. He would work a full shift as a messenger at the docks, then go to Watarimaro for training. He grew in knowledge and strength almost daily. At first, he'd crumple the moment he got home every evening, completely exhausted. At first, he didn't see how this routine could possibly improve his strength speed or toughness. The changes came subtly, and over time. He didn't know just how much he would change.

Four Years Later

Yamcha woke up and dragged himself out of bed. There was a storm brewing over the ocean. He heard someone say that it looked like a dangerous one. The docks might not even be open today. He figured if they weren't, he'd just do a basic workout at home. He still had to report in to make sure.

He walked towards his humble bathroom and caught his reflection in the mirror. The years had transformed.

He was only twelve years old, but hard living had made something of him. He was taller than most of the other kids his age. His body was lean, wiry and muscular. There was a hard, wild look in his eyes and his hair tumbled down his back. He didn't realize it, but everyone in town knew there was something special about him.

When he got to the docks that morning, the rain had already started. It was a light drizzle, not enough to keep people from working. He still worked as a messenger, but had gotten to the point where he no longer really had to. He could do nearly any job on the docks. Still, his boss had gotten used to having an errand boy around, and wasn't about to let Yamcha become just another dock worker.

"How's the storm looking, boss?" Yamcha asked.

"So far it's just rain, but I'm pretty sure it won't stay that way for long. I figure once we see the first lightning strike, we'll pack everything in nice and tight and go home. Sound good?"

Yamcha laughed. "I can always appreciate a day off, sir." The boss laughed.

"Get outta here, tell the boys in Dock Five to take the canned food shipment over to Warehouse Seven, they'll know where to put it."

Yamcha nodded, and turned around. The sound of thunder echoed in, faintly. Yamcha didn't see the lightning.

"Also..." The boss said, looking up. "Tell them after that to go home. That won't be the last thunder we hear today. Tell all the boys to go home."

Yamcha spent the next hour telling the dock workers to head home. He spent the entire hour in a dead run, shouting. "Storm's coming, go home!" At the top of his lungs. Things quickly got worse.

The wind screamed in Yamcha's ear. This wasn't an ordinary storm. He had to get to shelter as fast as he could.

He bolted for home. He could see people huddling to safety as quickly as they could. He knew he had to get home. Then he heard the voice.

It was high pitched and tiny, so quiet he was barely sure he heard it. He turned quickly around, straining to hear it over the wind.

"Help!" There it was, to the right and in an old abandoned building. Yamcha ran towards the building. It sounded like a small child, and he knew the kid wouldn't survive the storm without help.

The wind kicked up, louder and more fierce than ever before. Thunder shook the buildings and lightning filled the sky. Still, he couldn't let a small child face the storm alone.

The building was an old abandoned house. Yamcha couldn't remember anyone who had ever lived in it. With a fierce kick, he splintered the door. Instead of going in, though, the door ripped from it's hinges and flews off, carried by the wind.

"Help!" The voice called, screaming. The kid must have heard someone kick the door in.

"I'm coming!" Yamcha roared as loud as he could. It sounded like it was coming from the second floor. The stairs were a flooded wreck, completely impassable. He tried to put his weight on the bottom step and it just disintegrated.

"Help!" The voice called again. It sounded like it was crying. Yamcha gazed up at the stairs, desperate for a way to climb them.

"Screw it." He muttered, coiling his legs like a spring. He leaped high into the air at the next wall. His eyes went wide with shock at the sheer height he accomplished. Without wasting time, he readied his legs again and jumped into the air.

He could feel the force of his legs collapse the rotting wood of the wall as he hurled over the railing and landed on the platform above.

"Help!" The voice called again.

"I'm coming!" Yamcha yelled, letting his ears track the sound of the voice. It was in one of the back rooms.

"Help!" The voice shouted again as Yamcha ran towards the room. Without even pausing, he slammed his foot into the door, sending it hurling into the room in splinters.

"Where are you?" Yamcha said, looking around. Then he spotted the bath tub.

"Are you here to help me?" The voice said. It was tiny, scared, and crying. Yamcha stared. The voice belonged to a tiny blue cat.

"Yeah." Yamcha said to the ball of wet fur. "Im here to help." Yamcha reached down and picked the shivering cat up into his arms. He could tell that the cat desperately needed warmth.

The cat shook uncontrollably and began to cry. Whether it was out of relief or fear, Yamcha couldn't tell. Yamcha did the only thing he could. He pulled the tiny cat close to him to lend it his warmth.

"What's your name?" Yamcha asked. He was scared too, but he knew he had to be strong. Panic wouldn't do him any good.

"Puar..." The cat said as it began to shiver less.

"I'm Yamcha." He said, sitting down inside the bath tub. "You picked an interesting spot to ride the storm out in." Yamcha said. "Still, no windows, a nice solid bath tub. Could have picked worse spots. We can't go anywhere until the storm lifts." Puar nodded.

Then the rumbling started. Yamcha could hear the sound of wood splintering and shattering as the house began shaking. It was collapsing around them.

Yamcha did the only thing he thought to do. He pulled Puar tight into his body to keep the cat from being exposed, said a little prayer, and closed his eyes...


End file.
